Best Sunday Dress
by Bonnie in the Rafters
Summary: Carmela knew of love and relationships only from what movies and books taught her – that things always work out, and that your heart matters more than your body or your face. Amber fic, of course. Oneshot.


Mmmmph, I've hardly written in the past couple of months. And it's way too common I bet but here's a little short Amber piece, of course about why she is…well, y'know, how she is. Amber Sweet instead of Carmela Largo. With a little twist added.

I never in a million years thought I'd write about this pairing. First time for everything. :D

Carmela fell in love only once, when she was fourteen.

Most people say that there's no such thing as love when you're that young, but she knew it was love. She could hardly breathe as he walked by her; clean cut and charming, and always surrounded by a gaggle of girls far better looking than she. As she sat on the bench, fiddling with her black lace skirt and brushing her knotty auburn hair, she knew she had no chance. She was a little chubby and her nose was the opposite of cute – that was the thing that always bothered her most. Her nose. She could diet and lose the chubby, she could dye her hair and take more care of it, she could put on makeup and wear lighter clothes, but that giant honking nose always held her back. She had to thank her father for it, round and unattractive and sitting right in the middle of her face.

But Carmela was naïve. Carmela knew of love and relationships only from what movies and books taught her – that things always work out, and that your heart matters more than your body or your face. She'd lay at night, clutching her teddy bears and listening to her angsty music to drown out her brothers' arguing, and she'd think only of him. Of his smile, of how he didn't care what the teachers thought of him or how funny and dramatic he could be. And when you're fourteen love is everything, and wouldn't he want love, too? Granted, he was almost eighteen, and about to drop out of school…..but he had to be mature, then, and see that she would treat him right, not those Barbies. Right?

So Carmela wrote a letter.

And she threw on a pink dress – pink with white polka dots, and threw a bow in her hair to match. She had worn this dress to church, when her mother was alive the previous spring. Her best Sunday dress. It wasn't the gaudy hot pink but even so, with her pale skin and not light hair, it was quite a contrast. Looking back she still gets nauseous, wondering how she could consider that pretty.

And Carmela walked right up to that boy and gave him the letter.

And he gave her a look, a curious "what is this?", and tore it open. As he read, a small smile grew on his face, and she felt her heart beating fast, faster, fastest possible without her collapsing and dying. A smile! That's a good sign, right? Right? A girl to his left, Spanish descent, glared at Carmela, but she didn't care. She stood there proudly, awaiting his reaction, his asking her out, them riding into the sunset, because he smiled. And she, literally, stopped breathing as he set the letter on his lap and looked up at her.

"Not until you've fixed that face, dumptruck."

And there was laughter, and he looked so cute, her future husband, her love of her life. And he and the crowd following him got up and walked away, and she stood there in her pink dress, still smiling, even though the tears ran freely down her plump cheeks now, making her look like a dying raccoon. Her note lay on the floor and after she was done boohooing like the little baby she was, she knelt down and picked it up and scribbled all over it. Scribbled out her messy handwriting, her ridiculous words cheesier than a Hallmark card, her ugly, fatgirl name. Carmela. Symbolizing all the fat shit she poured down her throat. Largo, representing where she got her wonderful genes from.

And Carmela went home and threw out her pink dress.

Bought some hair dye and went blonde. Stopped eating. At night she no longer dreamt about her one and only and ignored her family's malfunctions, but laid there and listened – listened to Luigi beating his newest girlfriend, listened to some girl crying next door in Pavi's arms, listened to Marni tell Rotti that she couldn't do it anymore, and leaving without saying goodbye. And her knight in shining armor got thrown out of school for repeatedly failing the 11th grade and repeated drug possession charges. And she lost her chubbiness and eventually, eventually she fixed that nose of hers. A coming-of-age birthday gift from daddy, who was too heartbroken and bitter to argue with his only daughter, she was able to chisel breast implants as well. Over time Carmela became Amber – Amber Sweet. To match the amber contacts she had begun wearing at the time, and sweet because of how skinny she had gotten, how pretty. Her sweet tight abs and sweet ass. Not her personality. Personality never matters and Amber wasn't sweet.

Maybe Carmela was but Carmela was ugly and Carmela is gone now.

Amber never cried. Amber, unlike Carmela, didn't know rejection and depression and angst, Amber only knew soreness – the feeling of her body adjusting to some new plastic or otherwise foreign object somewhere inside of her. Those doctors, they wouldn't give her enough to take care of it, and in order to keep up her socialite status, her budding fame and her Zydrate support network, she needed to function. Didn't she? So Amber went out onto the street wanting to try Zydrate, and she found someone willing to give it. He was about three, almost four years older – nice bone structure, charming, witty, humorous. Not exactly friendly and not exactly caring but smooth. His hair fell in straggly strands, multicolored, and she never bothered to learn his name. Not even an "hi, how do you do".

Amber Sweet had never met this boy before.

She didn't recognize his voice. His small smiles and all the scalpel sluts surrounding him, and he didn't know her face – her cute nose, her slim, fit body, her ample breasts and long legs. Even as she opened them for him, in exchange for secrecy and a little help with her agony, she didn't know him, not at all. And he'd pull out, and she'd pull her skirt back down, over her skinny legs, and take that magic from him, the thing that kept her living, and walk off. Nothing more. Sure he was cute, and smooth, and a bad boy, and all that – but she had so many other boys who were interested. So many boys who worshipped her and so many to bring home, and she would never waste time on him. She could do better. Although Amber had to admit she didn't really care – love was overrated. Love isn't like in the movies where everything works out and someone will love you unconditionally. Amber had herself and her Zydrate and for her that was enough, the rest was just necessary bullshit to put up with.

Carmela Largo fell in love, just once. Amber Sweet never fell in love at all.


End file.
